2

Foreword

I worked for Marconi Radar Systems Ltd from mid-1970 for about thirteen years, a very short time by comparison with so

many of my colleagues who made the company their principal career. It was even shorter by comparison with those whose

life’s work was radar, starting in the military during the Second World War then moving into the civilian world.

I was an adolescent aspiring to adulthood during much of the Cold War, and I had the good fortune to find secure

employment with MRSL for a formative period of my life. I remember my years working for the company with great affection.

They were days of certainty: what we were doing forever felt right, working for a self-assured organisation with great breadth

and depth in capabilities, always to achieve the highest standards of quality in the national interest. Against the backdrop of the

international tensions of the times, those days of clarity of purpose and a sense of belonging were amongst the most fulfilling of

my working life.

Those of us, including me, who look back on our company’s name with pride can only despair at its being tipped into obscurity.

By the time that process started, I was lucky enough to be long gone from the scene, but those financial manoeuvres by the

new management of GEC in the sad days after Lord Weinstock’s reign had a very rare effect: they aligned the disbelieving and

derogatory opinions of so many aghast City commentators with those of a very large community of Marconi engineers from

many disciplines.

This is an attempt to gather up and document some precious memories of Marconi, before they are lost. Thanks to the efforts of

the RAF Air Defence Radar Museum, and with continuing support from our successor company BAE Systems Limited, a lot of

equipment produced by Marconi in general (and MRSL in particular) has been very well curated, preserved and displayed at

Neatishead. But there is a clue in its name: the museum’s scope is much wider than the achievements of any one named

manufacturer, no matter how precious a memory.

The museum’s tour guides do an excellent job around the exhibits by telling tales very much focussed on the efforts of those

who have performed the actual air defence of the United Kingdom, and understandably so. Moving from the preliminaries to the

Second World War, they pass via the Cold War to the present day. But by focussing on those men and women, their words pay

only passing tribute to those who worked so hard to maintain the equipment in top condition, and scarcely mention those who

built it all in the first place. Marconi was a major mover in that enterprise for many years, and I feel privileged to have been a

part of it, no matter how slight my own contribution at Neatishead.

I focussed a visit to the museum on photographing “Anything and Everything Marconi”. The photography was not a total

success, but these pictures and my own rather self-indulgent commentary on them may just spark others’ respectful, cheerful,

and proud memories of Marconi’s contribution to air defence history.

Nick Pinnock, June 2016

MRSL Employee #71047, 1970-1983

3

Marconi at the

Museum

Locating the Logo

I visited the Royal Air Force Air Defence

Radar Museum (ADRM) at Neatishead in

Norfolk during April 2016, determined

to photograph any equipment bearing a

Marconi badge, or maybe just deserving of

wearing one. The Web is home to many

photographs of the place, but I wanted to

assemble a small album of Marconi memories

that can be viewed as one coherent set, even

if others’ efforts may well be more

comprehensive and attractive

photographically. As you’ll see, however,

there’s many a slip ‘twixt cup and shutter-

click…

My own stint at Neatishead as an MRSL Field

Services engineer ended over 43 years ago,

and what I knew as RAF Neatishead has

become a shadow of its former self. When I

was there in the early 1970s, six antennas

scanned the skies, but it’s now just a Remote

Radar Head or RRH. Those were the days of

Linesman and then the Marconi-supplied

Standby Local Early Warning and Control

system. The SLEWC display facilities survive,

and are now featured as a major museum

exhibit, the “Cold War Operations Room”.

Now without even a single live radar within

its own boundary, the site is home to the

ADRM—based in the building which everyone

working on site knew as the “R30”, or even

the “Happidrome” if you had a stronger sense

of history. Apart from the museum, there is

still a small RAF contingent that looks after

the needs of the operational radar at nearby

RRH Trimingham. With those two exceptions

the site is practically derelict, even having

been offered unsuccessfully for sale on eBay

a few years ago, perhaps more in desperate

hope than expectation.

When navigating toward the site with a view

to finding Marconi equipment it is absence

that first strikes the returning visitor: What’s

missing? Way back in the 1970s, it was

dominated by the Type 85 radar head, a

product of Marconi’s step-sibling AEI. It was

quite close to the road, and impressively

placed atop the very substantial R12 building.

Turning into the museum car-park these

days, it is very obvious that the Type 85 is no

more—it was removed some time in 1991.

The vast array of electronics and waveguide

plumbing that was inside the R12 has been

stripped out and the building itself is clearly

no longer in the best state of repair, although

it is amongst a number on the site listed as

Grade II by Historic England.

The car-park does not afford a very clear

view across the site, because of the

intervening buildings. But it is obvious that

the antennas for the standalone Cossor

Secondary Surveillance Radar, the Marconi

High-Speed Passive Detection system, and

the twin Plessey/Decca HF200 heightfinders

are long gone too.

What remains very clearly on view, especially

from the lane that passes the farmland on

the western side of the site, is the radar head

for the Marconi Type 84. It must by now have

stood there for something over 50 years,

even since before Neatishead became a

Master Radar Station in the mid 1960s. It is

still impressive, even if it is on the far side of

the site and can be approached only by

special permission or by using a zoom lens.

The climate has done its worst; the olive drab

colour is now disfigured by years of untended

exposure to the weather since its

decommissioning in 1994. Curiously, memory

tells me that it was painted pale blue in my

time. Perhaps Anno Domini is playing tricks

and I’m confusing it with the Type 85, which

was certainly paler in colour if fading

photographs are to be believed—there is a

panel inside the ADRM recording its

disassembly:

4

Marconi Type 84 Radar Head, c. 1967

The Old Lady Shows Her Bare Behind!

Seen from the road on the western boundary

of the site, the long-since stationary Type 84

radar head permanently shows off her rear-

facing reflector, physically a mirror image of

that which faces forward. Except that...

...originally intended to be equipped with

secondary surveillance equipment, the rear-

facing section was never actually used, so the

waveguide support gantry seen here

projecting beneath it remained permanently

empty. A forward-facing SSR antenna was

fitted instead to the top of the T84 assembly,

with its cylindrical omnidirectional “P2 pulse”

element prominent at its right-hand end.

The roof of “the bungalow”, as the

guardrooms for the old underground R3

operations rooms will forever be known, can

be seen just behind and to the left of the

radar head.

5

W ithout being able to leave the immediate environs of

the museum itself, my own photographs of the Type 84

head were limited to long shots. I found these close-

ups on a website (i) devoted to the exploration of

derelict buildings and installations of all sorts. Coincidentally they

were taken in April 2016 too; they are reproduced here by

permission. The overall impression can only be of a system built to

last for decades, and that’s exactly what it did, as it may well have

remained viable for operation for as much as 30 years. Even now, it

still looks as though it could give a cutting torch pause for thought.

6

7

8

T he car-park area does contain

one very obvious but less

physically substantial reminder

of Marconi history—the

prototype S600 S-band radar head and

cabin that was furbished for use in the

Falkland Islands, later providing useful

support in the Balkans conflict of the

late 1990s. It was eventually donated

to the ADRM by BAE Systems, whose

logo appears on the information panel

(ii) next to it. Moving towards the

museum entrance, I missed a trick, and

omitted to photograph the Type 95

mobile radar, a system which also did

service in the Falklands just when its

expected service life in the UK was

coming to an end. My excuse for this

omission is that to my uneducated eye

the antenna looked a bit too “chicken-

wire” to be a Marconi design, and

there’s good reason for that: according

to Gordon Carle, a one-time RAF

Fighter controller based at Saxa Vord,

the American-built AN/UPS-1 seems to

have had an inglorious history in UK

service (iii). But kitted out with Marconi

electronics instead and using the

original antenna, rechristened the

S259, and still lightweight enough to be

transportable by a Wessex helicopter, it

gave good service. So no photograph of

the Marconi S259, for the moment. Hey

ho, there’ll be a next time.

Marconi S600 Transportable S-Band Antenna and Equipment

Cabin, c. 1967

This is the prototype which, after a long sabbatical at Bushy Hill, was

expeditiously rebuilt for use by the Royal Air Force in the Falkland

Islands, where it served alongside an example of its L-Band sibling.

When superseded there by a more modern radar it proved useful

during anti-radar development trials in the Balkans, eventually

returning for another long sabbatical at Bushy Hill before arriving

here. For now, at least, that clever and intricate squintless feed

remains as silent as the R12 building in the background.

WWII Room

9

T he museum entrance is in a short succession of huts built on to the side

of the bomb-hardened R30. It’s confusing after such a long absence,

especially since the entrance proper to the R30 is now at the other end

of the building, opposite to where it used to be. And REALLY—Did we not

deserve a gift shop in my day, too? After a friendly introductory chat from a

guide, it’s time to visit the WWII exhibition room, the first of two guided tours

available.

The Chain Home transmitter, a genuine example manufactured by Metropolitan

Vickers, sits there in considerable majesty. Its design was based on the

components of a radio broadcast transmitter of the time, minimally changed to

allow the shortest possible time in development and production. It looks

extremely solidly built.

By contrast, the receiver equipment on display is a mock-up of the Cossor

original. It was cleverly and painstakingly reconstructed by the museum’s

volunteer staff, but I suspect that its layout is not fully representative of all the

detail of the real thing. But of course there were variations produced during its

service life, so it may well be so. The imitation A-scope radar display is a live

illustration of the technology of the time, and serves the purposes of the general

museum visitor rather well. There’s no mention of the Marconi-manufactured

contribution to the curtain array on those CH transmitter towers, unfortunately.

Standing in an impressive tableau of a WWII Air Defence Operations room, I

can’t help reflecting that somebody’s Public Relations Department missed a trick:

those arrays could have been a noteworthy site for a Marconi logo or two.

Perhaps not quite in the emergency spirit of the times.

But what’s this? In the same room as the CH transmitter, there’s a very obvious

Marconi roundel, prominent on the front door of a Type 7 radar transmitter

cabinet. Unfortunately, it proved rather difficult to frame the whole system in the

camera viewfinder, without disturbing the constant buzz of guided-tour parties

around. (Another reason for a return visit to beckon…) This type of equipment

became operational at Neatishead in early 1942, at which time the R30 building

had been constructed, and its “Happidrome” was the room where Ground

Control Intercept operations were conducted using the Type 7. It’s rather like

the CH transmitter: it looks extremely well-constructed. By then, wartime

shortages must have been hitting manufacturers quite hard, so maybe all those

legendary sawn-off park railings were melted down and put to some good use

after all. Don Adams, once an RAF Junior Technician serving at RAF Ventnor in

the 1950s (iv) gives some idea of the care with which the Type 7 electronics was

engineered internally too. It seems a truly remarkable piece of kit for its time.

Marconi Type 7

Transmitter, c.1942

WWII Room

10

L eaving the WWII display area behind, there’s a short period before the other guided tour featured by the museum is due to start. There’s time to

pause in the corridor by a large reproduction of the same picture that was used on the front cover of our own Colin Latham’s “ABC of Radar…”. It’s

the 1935 “Daventry Experiment”, of course, in a picture painted by Roy Huxley, a noted aviation artist. Strangely, the artist gets no attribution for

his work, neither at the ADRM nor in Colin’s opus, and it does not seem to bear a signature. Apparently, amongst Roy Huxley’s mainstream work

(he’s noted as being “semi-retired” in 2012) was the illustration of boxes for Matchbox scale models, and it also included the designs for aviation-themed

commemorative plates for Royal Doulton (v).

Robert Watson-Watt, of course, gets due credit for his innovation in British radar in the same display panel, although if Colin Latham is to be believed

(and who am I to doubt his word?), Watson-Watt’s less-ebullient colleague Arnold Watkins should really receive a much more substantial share of the

recognition. The picture shows only two men, and is thought to portray Wilkins demonstrating his experimental results to an Air Ministry observer, and

neither figure is the more famous Watson-Watt. (vi)

Radio Room and Equipment Room

11

M y visit to the museum was focused on Marconi products, but it would be unfair

not to emphasise just how much other Air Defence history is represented on this

site. On the way to the guided tour of the Cold War Operations Room, the other

themes of the building become clear. The place offers a very substantial tribute

to the development of radar technology. There are klystrons and cavity magnetrons ranging

in size from the enormous to the minuscule, thus underpinning the tale of the development

of airborne radar. It also houses a large collection of memorabilia from the nearby RAF

Coltishall, which was closed in 2006 after a distinguished history dating back to 1939. Pride

of place alongside the many squadron mementoes goes to the cockpit of a SEPECAT Jaguar

ground attack aircraft. For an Elliott computer buff, there is a strong link here between that

aircraft cockpit and the Marconi-supplied Standby Local Early Warning and Control system

that is the basis of the Cold War exhibit: every Jaguar aircraft carried an Elliott 920M

computer, a very close cousin to the dual-redundant Elliott 920C machines that were the

“brains” of SLEWC.

It’s not just the layout of the building that is now confusing to an old hand, it’s the

individual rooms too. With the exception of the Cold War Operations Room, none of the

rooms in the R30 building is now laid out as it was in the 1970s—perhaps an expected

progression for an old war-horse now turned into a museum, but how did they also make

the rooms seem smaller than my memory allows?

There’s the corner office, fortunately with plenty of daylight, where the Marconi team based

itself when cerebral tasks like computer programming and hardware design modification

were being undertaken; it now displays radio equipment.

There’s the simulator room, that used to house four special consoles with keyboards and

Elliott tabular displays at which junior operations staff could pretend to be pilots and hurl

computer-simulated BAC/English Electric Lightning aircraft around their virtual sky. They

had four aeroplanes each in pursuit of bandits, under instruction from fighter controllers

honing their skills. The room now displays equipment ranging from a very large klystron to

the test engineer’s once-ubiquitous AVOmeter, and unlabelled stuff that I do not recognize

at all.

Most dramatic of all is the change to the “Machine Room” as we knew it; it used to house all

the Marconi display driver cabinets and the Elliott data processing equipment, whereas now

it’s home to “History”: real examples of several generations of radar display console (as the

next few pages show), plus large scale models of significant radars like the Type 85. It all

goes back as far as a geographical map of the CH system. There’s much more, and it’s an

impressive historical collection but of course, without all the original SLEWC electronics,

there’s nothing truly representative to put realistic radar pictures and tabular information

on the actual operator consoles in the Cold War Operations Room next door.

History Room

12

Marconi Type 64 Plan Position

Indicator, c. 1950s

The design of the Type 64 PPI was truly

“revolutionary”, which may seem an odd

description for a technique that did away

with the revolving electro-mechanical coils

that hitherto made the radar trace on a

circular Cathode Ray Tube rotate.

Its fixed coils used electronics to replace

much that had previously been achieved

mechanically. They thereby enabled the

screen’s travelling bright spot to be used

to write identifying symbols as well as

“painting” the actual radar echoes.

Development was started by Marconi in

1950, and they were manufactured in very

large numbers, many under contract by

the Plessey company. The Marconi Type 7

radar at Neatishead may well have been

retro-fitted with Type 64 displays,

although that’s not specifically mentioned.

Note the burned phosphor on the screen

that resulted from permanent radar

echoes, typically from ground clutter.

Later designs, like the SLEWC displays on

the following pages, incorporated special

“blanking” electronics helpful in preventing

this central discolouration.

A “British

Broad

Arrow” (like

convicts used

to wear)

appears here,

rather than a

company logo.

Wot?

No Marconi

Logo?

History Room

13

T he ability of the Type 84 radar to deliver a clutter-free picture seems to have relied heavily on the skills of the engineers who managed its

electronics to give peak performance. The SLEWC display consoles were fed not only with the processed version of the radar picture, both Types

84 and 85, but also with the unprocessed Type 84 “raw” version, and the one or the other could be selected for display at will. Even that degree

of choice did not always seem to suit the operational staff, however, who would sometimes prefer to have the engineer-led processing switched

off completely. Presumably this betrayed a lack of trust in the sophistication of the electronics and its guardians, as opposed to an explicit confidence in

the acuity of the human operators' eyeballs. Students of ophthalmology may have challenged that preference. What price human eyeballs now, when so

much radar information is displayed in a totally-processed synthetic form?

Marconi Type 84 Engineering Console, c. 1960s

A trio of screens like these was used by highly-

skilled engineering staff to manage the operation of

the Type 84 radar, optimizing its rejection of radar

clutter and static targets so as to give the clearest

possible picture for the Fighter Controllers whose

job it was to control intercepting aircraft.

From here too, targets could be designated for

attention by the nearby height-finding radars on the

site.

The much more modern graphics screen in the

background is the museum’s own practical

demonstration of height-finding technique, for

investigation by intrepid visitors.

Cold War Room

14

A t last: Two distinguished logos side by side, with that

from the Elliott SSR Decoder Display Control Unit looking

a little the worse for wear.

The design of this 1960s/70s Marconi logo seems

unchanged from the 1940s version on the Type 7 transmitter

cabinet.

Marconi SLEWC Console: S3002 Labelled

Plan Displays and Tabular Displays, c. 1970

These LPDs and “tabs” are part of the Cold War Operations Room next door to the History room, but shown here to maintain a chronological sequence of photos.

Amongst many others at the museum seeming to show a rotating radar sweep, all these consoles have been given what might be described as a “Cathode Ray Tubectomy”. This is for safety reasons if the “safe CRT” Dymo-tape label above the annular azimuth ring is to be believed. Or maybe it is because there’s now none of the original drive electronics available to give a more realistic sweeping trace on a real, original, CRT.

Note the Elliott Decoder Display Control Unit above the Marconi Tabular Display, and the very limited push-button keyboard with its illuminated keys.

That yellow rolling ball, with its comforting inertial feel of quality, was an exceptional pointing tool in experienced hands. Contemporary, maybe scurrilous, rumour had it that even the mighty Marconi organisation had been forced to abandon a long and frustrating struggle to make a truly spherical ball from phenolic resin—but a manufacturer of snooker balls was very happy to oblige instead.

History Room

15

iUKADGE Universal Console driven by Marconi Locus 16

computing, c. 1993 to 2004

The operational successor to SLEWC, consoles of this type were safely

housed underground in the nearby newly extended and refitted R3

bunker at Neatishead, leaving the R30 Happidrome untouched.

This seems to be one of only 2 surviving examples of about 200 Universal

Consoles manufactured under the aegis of UKADGE Systems Limited,

with Marconi Locus 16 computers at each position driving Plessey-

provided display hardware.

“Universal” or not, the other surviving example at RAF Manston’s

museum seems not to have that third rectangular display mounted at

high level. It’s badged “Digital”, so perhaps this screen was a direct link

to the Hughes Aircraft-provided DEC VAX computers then in the back

office. The mounting looks a bit like an afterthought, and its keyboard

was not incorporated in the keyshelf, but the screen certainly was not

doing anything museum-specific during my visit, so perhaps this is an

RAF on-site special.

Note the console’s incorporation of QWERTY keys to suit a burgeoning

digital and alphanumeric age, augmenting the coloured special function

keys, although there’s still a proper rolling ball on the keyshelf in front of

the 4-colour fully synthetic display.

The tube technology was “Penetron”, obviously an advance on radar’s

“any colour so long as it’s orange” heritage, but judging by the

performance of Marconi Radar’s own equivalent unit, there would

probably have been difficulty in discriminating between not the red and

the green, but the orange and the yellow legends on the screen. NATO/

RAF preference would have been to have blue, not yellow, as a colour

choice, but the technology of the time could not allow it.

By 1993, there was not a proper radar paint in sight.

T hose must be Locus 16 circuit boards peeping out from underneath the left-hand side of the desk. The only obvious logo

is at the top left of the main display, and reads “Plessey Displays”. I seem to recall that the Plessey Company got in first

with their preferred choice of colours too.

Proper Marconi colours, green and mushroom, just where were you when we needed you?

History Room

16

ASACS Console c. 2004 onwards

This UK Air Surveillance And Control console (Console? It’s more of a table!) represents the

state of the art for air defence in the UK. This is the successor to the iUKADGE Universal

Console. Sadly it’s nothing to do with Marconi, and was never used at Neatishead.

The right-hand display screen on this configuration at the museum gives a rolling

presentation from IBM’s Marketing Department about the choice of standard off-the-shelf

office-style equipment as the building blocks for the latest in UK air defence systems. It really

is a bit smug but then, had any one of the three major players in UKSL won the contract

instead, any or all of them (us) would have promulgated exactly the same kind of stuff.

It is sad that Marconi, Plessey and even Hughes Aircraft no longer exist in the form that they

were once known; all of them prey to mergers and acquisitions. But modern systems like this

became inevitable: certainly Marconi Radar itself was a pioneer in the development of

automatic plot extraction. Down-playing the role of the human being in recognizing the air

picture initiated the process by which the air defence operations centre became data or plot-

driven rather than raw-picture driven. Meanwhile, the development of the ability to transmit

such data reliably over long distances clearly increased the likelihood that radar sensors and

AD operations centres no longer needed to be collocated. The game has changed for all time,

and Marconi was a substantial driver in that process, even to its own eventual detriment.

Office-quality equipment now rules, not those brilliantly designed but expensive consoles.

Office equipment or not, at least ASACS still seems to be using a rolling ball, even if it is one

of those upside-down computer mouse jobs rather than the real thing.

A t one time, RAF Neatishead was to be one of the two bases for ASACS equipment, but RAF Scampton was chosen in its stead.

Arguably, that led to the sad state in which the site now finds itself. But who knows? The continuation of Neatishead as a major

operational site might have meant no museum as it is today: all that SLEWC display equipment might have been scrapped, so there

would have been nothing at all on the following few pages.

Cold War Room

17

Sector Controller’s Room:

Twinned Consoles with Marconi

S3008 LPD and Tabs, and Elliott

SSR Display Control Units

The RAF Sector Controller occupied

the right-hand position, from which

there was a clear view of the lower

tiers of the Operations Room, as well

as the traditional edge-lit Tote in the

background. I believe the large

tabular screen in the centre of the

room is for the Recognised Air Picture

Dissemination System (RAPIDS), a

Ferranti product.

From this room, there was also ready

access to communication with the

Bristol Bloodhound Surface-to-Air

missile commanders, via annexes on

either side.

T he Cold War Room exhibit is not so much a room as a series of rooms: the “Happidrome” is steeply raked like a theatre and the

successive rooms become larger as you descend the stairs. This top room was occupied by the Sector Controller, most likely a

Group Captain, who enjoyed a Labelled Paint Display screen of 16-inch diameter, rather larger than did the lower echelons. The

edge-lit Tote screen that was still updated manually using backward-writing with grease pencil can be seen dimly in the

background: even Marconi-Elliott computer technology had not yet ousted Chinagraph.

Cold War Room

18

Marconi: Sector Controller Console

This closer view shows the museum’s simulated radar sweep, which is provided on a screen mounted far more deeply inside the console than were the original CRTs.

There was a temporary modification made to these unusually large S3008 displays shortly after my arrival on site in the 1970s: A thick sheet of clear acrylic was secured across the front as a safety measure after a number of the tubes had imploded elsewhere, randomly and without warning.

The force of the implosion was sufficient to drive the electron gun from the neck of the tube through the front of the assembly and, allegedly, into the facing wall. The tubes were made by Ferranti at very considerable expense; so far as I remember there was no consistent history of such failure, worrying though it was. Perhaps the museum visitor is safer without them.

Cold War Room

19

L ingering in the same room: The legendary Group Captain Joan Hopkins (later Air Commodore, d. 24 May 2010), the

first woman to be in charge of the defence of a Sector in the UK, must have sat at this position. She is reported to

have said “This place is the best toy I have ever had, and I intend to enjoy it.” (vii) Although the context in which she

made that remark was very light-hearted, as boys’ and girls’ toys go, this place does take some beating.

Some visitors think they’re on the set of a James Bond movie. But the evil villain was in a Bear, not in this building.

Sector Controller’s Room (again)

A more general view of the Bridge:

(Sometimes it’s better to let the

ambient light do its job unaided,

especially with a photographically

difficult subject.)

The desktop projecting into the body

of the room, with its array of push-

buttons, appears to be associated

with the large Ferranti RAPIDS display

between the Marconi consoles, or

perhaps Bloodhound. The RAPIDS

installation was still in its infancy

when I left the site, and I cannot

actually recall any of the installations

being associated with Bloodhound in

those days. Another topic for a return

visit...

Cold War Room

20

A nother atmospheric shot (that is to say it’s not very good) taken from the tier of consoles below the Sector Controller’s room shows the

Tote in full flow at the background, representing a particular day in history, to which the museum guide’s talk refers constantly. Intervening

glass partitions and high contrast in a darkened room make a reasonable photograph unusually difficult. The screen in the middle is

showing the tour guide’s presentation, “Welcome to the Cold War Operations Room”—not the same message as was being given to those

intruding Tupolev reconnaissance aircraft of the day, by all accounts. Even today, they still flout international aviation law by leaving their SSR

transponders firmly switched OFF—an unwelcome opportunity for the RAF interceptor squadrons to keep their skills top-notch.

Cold War Operations

Room: General View

Cold War Room

21

Marconi, Marconi, Marconi

S3002, as far as the eye can

see.

The Cold War Operations Room

contains about 20 examples of

the Marconi SLEWC display

console with 12-inch diameter

radar displays. Here is one tier

of them, stretching off into the

half-lit distance. The consoles

themselves were impressive

pieces of mechanical

engineering, designed to be

flexible and modular so as to

accommodate a range of

different display units, each able

to be slid out on rails for

maintenance. Altogether, each

console amounted to an

extraordinary weight.

The stairway leading to the area

behind the Tote, where the

backward-writing “WAAFs”

worked, is through the far

distant darkened doorway in the

middle of the picture…

...they were still called “WAAFs”,

even although that organisation

was renamed as long ago as

1949.

22

A number of these Elliott Decoder

Display Control Units now do duty

around the museum as collecting

boxes for cash donations. This one

is in the café, where the visitor has to

wonder why it was ever necessary to write

the legend “EMERGENCY” in marker pen

beneath the relevant warning lamp,

especially when it’s still possible to read

“COMMS FAIL” through the lens

immediately beside it. Despite the indignity

of having a coin slot cut in the top, it’s still

giving good service. Let’s hope this latest

mod state is properly recorded on the

drawings somewhere.

Elliott: SSR Decoder

Display Control Unit

A Few References:

The museum and my photographs stirred a lot of memories for me, and it was fascinating to do some research to try to put a little

substance to them. No matter what, however, my own memories may be just as blurred and distant in places, and inevitably coloured by

age, as the photographs that stimulated them. The Marconi Radar History website itself was the obvious primary source of a lot of

information, and its links to other sources proved a starting point for much browsing elsewhere. The following list includes a few of the

places I tarried:

(i) http://www.28dayslater.co.uk/raf-neatishead-apr-16.t102907 “Report (Permission Visit) RAF Neatishead - Apr 16”;

Members of 28dayslater visit and record sites of historical interest, usually abandoned. Consent to reproduce the close-up photographs

of the Type 84 radar head was kindly given by website member “ledgehammer”.

(ii) The text on the museum’s information panel for the S600 radar gives satisfying recognition to its Marconi heritage in its very first

sentence. BAE Systems deserves great credit for its support of the museum, but it’s still a slight culture shock to see their logo so

close to an iconic Marconi product of its time.

(iii) http://ahistoryofrafsaxavord.blogspot.co.uk/2009/12/radar-equipment-at-top-site.html Gordon Carle writes about his days in the RAF

and its equipment at RAF Saxa Vord, including the AN/UPS-1 morphing into the Marconi S259 radar.

(iv) http://www.ventnorradar.co.uk/Type7.htm Don Adams writes about his days in the RAF and its equipment at various sites, including

RAF Ventnor, where there was a Marconi Type 7 radar.

(v) http://www.matchboxkits.org/product_info.php?cPath=84&products_id=262 “The unofficial reference to vintage Matchbox kits”

presents “Tour 11 : Recent artwork by Roy Huxley”.

(vi) http://www.history.org.uk/resources/student_resource_3570.html Victor Lown and Paul Mitchell write about Arnold Wilkins: Pioneer of

British Radar in "The Historian", Autumn 2010.

(vii) http://www.pprune.org/archive/index.php/t-416482.html tells of a conversation between Group Captain Joan Hopkins and the then

OC Admin Squadron at RAF Neatishead, about the cost of fireworks for celebrations that 5 November.

The rights of all copyright owners are hereby acknowledged.

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Postscript So you found my photographs wanting, did you? You’re in good company, because so did I. There’s plenty of better ones on the Web, and finding them is always fun, especially when you get distracted. Or you could just visit the place and make your own pictures. Both the museum and the RRH are signposted locally with the familiar brown and red tourist and MoD signs as appropriate. Sat-navs like to look for NR12 8YB. The museum shop is not particularly big on imagery, but there is a properly-exposed postcard of the Operations Room on sale (see left). If a visit does not appeal, you can stay in your armchair and look up this rather stunning 3D presentation of the Operations Room... http://www.eyerevolution.co.uk/virtual-tours/radar-museum/

...if it’s still out there on the Web for you to find it, of course.

Eventually the Type 84 will be judged to have lasted longer, no

doubt.

But then, that’s Marconi for you.